Barca

Besides Paris, I don’t think I have wanted to live somewhere within 5 minutes of getting there. But Barcelona, it got me. In fact, I don’t even think Paris was that quick. Within five minutes of getting off the metro, I was faced by some of the most beautiful buildings I had ever seen.

The city is beautiful. And it’s strange, it feels like the first time I’ve left home here. Touching down in the plane felt like a big step. For England, I jumped on a train, spoke the language, was always with Tild and nothing felt so new as this.

This was my first hostel.

I have been away for five months and this is the first time that I felt like a traveller. I suppose I haven’t been til now. I worry about times and dates and reservation numbers and I suppose that will all come with time and experience and I’ll be a lot better at making friends with random people at the end of my travels. It is also the first country where I didn’t have any command of the language at all. Hola. Gracias. Adios.

I kept speaking French. As if my mind went, “Quick! Language you’re not comfortable with! French time!” “Merci!”

I feel rude and obnoxious, assuming that those around me speak English. It’s a good assumption, invariably they do, but I shouldn’t be able to do this. Just launch into English or look confused until a waiter hands me an English menu.

Began the next day on La Rambla, the big avenue and tourist trap. Being a Sunday morning, 9am (the 6am of Spain), it was pretty vacant. My experience of La Rambla is so different to many that I have read about. It is the homeland of pick-pocketers and the prices are triple of those two blocks away. But, for me, so early, so quiet, the sun quietly coming out from the clouds (at least five degrees warmer than Tours when I left), it was so nice. I had put on a stripey orange shirt and a stripey blue skirt and I was just revelling in tourist mode. The big wide street, ending at the seashore.

I perused the gothic area to the side, locating Travel Bar, where my walking tour left from. Saw some crazy giant puppets with people inside them being set up in a little plaza where old men were selling odds and ends, bits and pieces, from old coins and stamps to adaptors and pieces of junk that looked like they had been pulled from bins. I crossed a square that I never found again, where people were selling paintings.

I so firmly recommend the walking tour (you can find it here). Our guide, Iusef, was really big on history and told us amazing things about Barcelona and its history. A city plagued by religious wars, changing leadership, a city that belonged to many kingdoms, many empires. A disconnected Spain, a Spain that killed Christians, killed Jews, killed Muslims. A Spain that had one of the most progressive democratic governments, one that championed universal education, women’s rights, healthcare, overthrown  by a fascist dictator who plunged Spain into a dark ages like era for 40 years. Franco was never overthrown, he died. He told us of the profound impact of the burning of the library at Alexandria and left us with the horror that is the murder of people and the murder of ideas and knowledge.

Iusef imparting his wisdom

He told us about Catalunya, the region around Barcelona and it’s fight for independence from the rest of Spain, which an overwhelming majority of the citizens in Barcelona want. The Spanish government is currently faced iwht the very real possibility of losing its most profitable region to independence.

Some things I had known, some were incredible. Franco’s reign, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella and their period of power, which made Spain the richest country in the world by trillions of dollars but was also responsible for one of the biggest genocides in history. The black walls of churches where the royalty had people burned against them, the wall of a primary school against which Franco has people shot. The Jewish gravestones used to rebuild a Christian palace wall.

Fourth across from the top of the window is the gravestone they forgot to turn around.

It was incredibly sobering, but all around us, we could see the Spain of today, which has bounced back more strongly than one could expect.

He also taught us to dance flamenco.

We finished in a bar where we drank sangria and lunch. We talked travelling, language, hatred/love of Paris (it’s a fairly polarising city), education and politics- the usual. We had all just arrived in Barca, though many were Erasmus (exchange) students who had been living in Spain.

Spent the afternoon wandering, letting my feet take me all over the old city.

Nothing here happens at speed. Having dinner is a many hour experience. It is not something you do when you only have an hour before you have to meet someone. It took me half an hour between finishing my meal and getting the bill. HALF AN HOUR. But it’s so Spanish. Nothing is rushed with food. We take small portions, olives, prosciutto, and drink a glass of red wine. And when I say glass, what I mean is bowl. Their waiters do not measure out the 100ml, the 150ml, the glasses have no white line to tell you where to stop. I feel like that would be an insult to the Spanish. It is languid.

And I sat there, simmering at the slow service, positively festering in my annoyance, disgusted at the anti-punctual Spanish. As it turned out, I arrived right on time to greet Tild off the bus.

After Tild joined me, I no longer faced eating alone, there was no rush, we could relax into the city.

La Sagrada Familia.

Expansive, wonderous, magnificent grandeur. There aren’t really words. It is the most beautiful church I have ever seen. Especially as one who is not overly fond of churches. It does away with any darkness, any gothic over-powering darkness. It is all light, as if it is inviting religion, not imposing it.

They think it will be finished in another ten years or so…

The outside + cranes

Above the door of La Sagrada

And as we so often do, Tild and I found a café and stayed  there for an hour. It was gorgeous, with an old Spanish man who understood next to nothing of what we said. For future reference, a coffee with milk is ‘café con leche’. While Tild was in the bathroom and I was looking around at the black and white photos on the wall, a younger guy came in and took a seat at the counter starting a conversation with the little old man, who listened for a while and promptly turned to me, “He likes you. He wants to know about you.”

The younger man turned, held up his hands, exasperated and said, “I asked him where you were from!”

“Si. Si. He likes you.”

“I- I- I only asked where you were from!”

From behind him, the little old man winked at me, apparently very amused with his joke. Trouble maker, that one.

The market at LA Rambla is perfection. Much to our delight, we stumbled upon a pardise, with row after row of juices for 1€. Tild became obsessed with a coconut raspberry confection and me with a passionfruit. Also, strawberries for 1€30. Insane.

Food in hand, we made our way through the city to Park Guell, Gaudi’s famous park. As we walked, we talked about being surprised by Barcelona- Tild said it was more European than she expected and for me, so used to France, with its tidy, white houses and neat little streets, was shocked at these big bright buildings and sprawling avenues. It feels hot here, even when it is not. The further you more away from the centre, the brighter and less European it gets. The whole place has this ease that France lacks. It is comfortable, where France can be restricting.

Stayed in the park for the afternoon, soaking up the small amounts of sun.

Ended up in a small pretty local tapas bar for dinner. Sat at the counter so we could pick tapas from the bar. We had carafes of the sweetest red wine (got fairly drunk as have not been drinking too much in France). Reveled in the baked artichokes- who knew how amazing they were? Also, fun to eat. But the best part was talking. Actually catching up. It is surprising how much you miss proper talking, when you are away from it. Talking with a person who actually knows you and knows the people that you’re talking about. We talked about the future, our lives, travelling, ideas, romance, things changing, things not changing and which of the two was scarier. We are both afraid to return home unfinished, not knowing our next steps, with our friends spread far and wide. Afraid of going back to our normal lives after a break this big. Tild worried about not having enough time (as I copy this from my notebook, she is back in Australia). I too worried about running out of time, after Spain I would only have six weeks and I knew that they would blur by. This of course, was matched by wanting to see our families so so much.

In our drunken state, we took to the streets and decided to find the shots bar that had been recommended, without having the address or the name.

It was pretty quiet when we finally arrived; everyone was running on ‘Spain time’.  We had shots lit on fire, shots with cream, and then settled into a giant jug of something that I assume was food colouring and alcohol. Ran into the 8 American girls staying at our hostel (to be truthful, 7 Americans and their awesome Japanese friend). Regrettably, my memory is a little hazier here than usual, but I do remember some of the other amazing shots that we saw at Chupito’s. There was this one involving an army hat, which was placed on the guy’s head while the barman played general and shouted at him and hit him on the helmet with a bat. Then he got to do a shot. Fires, blindfolds, you name it.

Spent the next morning at Casa Battlo, one of Gaudi’s houses. Is brilliant.

Cannot describe it, magic. Was quite expensive, so we ummed and ahhed about going in, but it was so worth it. The audio guide was included and we spent more than two hours exploring this Dr. Suess wonderland.

Preferred it to La Sagrada.- which feels almost sinful to say. Although, probably less sinful than how we spent the rest of the day. Bought more wonderful juice, got giant sandwiches at the amazing Bo Di Be and fell asleep by the marina. For three hours.

It was awesome.

We walked to the man-made beach and sat down in the sand. It surprised me how much the sea affected me. It had been almost five months since I had lain eyes on it. The smell of salt. I live near two giant rivers and it’s not like I go without large expanses of water. But the sea is nothing like that. The salt and the waves and the sand. It’s like you don’t even realise that you feel claustrophobic until you see it again.

We made plans to wake up early and not be late to the airport.

Best laid plans and all that…